


Distraction

by deathorthetoypiano



Series: See you in court [2]
Category: Silk (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 19:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1659335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathorthetoypiano/pseuds/deathorthetoypiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sometimes it is personal,” Martha had said, and she was right.  It was.</p><p>In which CW is well aware that she can't say no to Martha Costello. </p><p>Set during s2e5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

The second time was after the Fatima Ali trial, head-to-head, angry, fighting dirty.  It wasn’t the first time they’d been up against each other - if anything, it seemed that, since her application to join Chambers, they’d been pitted against one another more and more.  Of course, it was probably a coincidence.  But their friendship had weathered it.  It had to, they couldn’t take it personally, they’d lose their minds.  Not to mention their nerve.

But today, today they were snapping and sniping and interrupting one another more than usual.  Something was different.  “Sometimes it _is_ personal,” Martha had said, and she was right.  It was.  It was personal because, at some point in their lives, they’d both been scared and desperate in one way or another, they understood Fatima although they had to pretend not to. But it wasn't just that, but also because they both felt something was _missing_ here, but Caroline had no idea what that something actually was.

So when Martha burst in, all earnest and truthful and trying so goddamn hard, and with answers to those lingering not-quite-questions, putting the blame at the police's door - not, as she feared, at her own - it was a relief.  Not that she could show it, not right away. She had to at least pretend that she was prepared to continue with the trial.

“So how do I know it’s true?”  She tried not to wince as she asked.  Hated herself even as she did.  But she had to be sure.  Couldn’t let this – this _thing_ , this, what, dalliance? Fling? One-night stand? whatever this was, wasn't, could be – get in the way of the two of them doing their jobs.

A pout. “Would I lie to you?”  _No._   She listened, and gritted her teeth in irritation as it all slotted into place, the deception, the arrogance of the drugs squad.  This was the _something_ that was missing, this was what felt wrong.  She whirled away with a sigh and a curse.  As they decided what to do, as she put her case to the judge, as she ranted to herself, as she kept up her Lady Macbeth act, she tried to keep her head.  And tried not to leap at the offer to sit in a pub with Martha again, even as she tried desperately to stay on the wagon, just to be with her might be enough.

 

 

She didn’t really expect herself to be able to say no to Martha Costello, not outside of a courtroom, not sat across a table from her when she looked so forlorn and lost.  So when the first bottle was almost gone, and Martha asked her again, more pleading than before, she gave in.  There was a wine glass on the table anyway, so she pushed it forward, and tried not to see the relief flash in Martha’s eyes.  She wasn’t to know that Caroline was _trying_.  But she saw so much of herself in Martha as she drained her glass over and over, as Caroline dutifully refilled it, wondered what had her checking her watch so often, dared not ask.

“You have to laugh, don’t you,” she tried, gently.  Tried to show her that it didn’t get easier, that she would simply learn to cope with losing, with seeing what happened when the wrong result came back, with the loss that came with caring.  But also that the caring was what made her so good at it, and so lovely.  But she couldn’t say so, not really.  “Tomorrow is another day,” she finished.  It came out as lame and defeated as she knew Martha already felt. 

“Tomorrow is Jody Farr.”  _Shit_.  _Shit shit shit._

She stopped trying, then, gave in, took Martha’s hand across the table, between the bottles and the glasses and the wall.  Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t pull away, just laced their fingers more firmly together.  To her credit, she didn’t even look around to see who might have noticed them.  “Now,” Caroline murmured, “feel free to shoot me down here, but it seems that you’re in need of some, uh,” she paused, blinked slowly, then looked up at Martha and smiled, just a little, “distraction.”

Martha looked away, back again, away again, almost fluttering her lashes but not quite.  Nodded.  Then grinned.  “After last time,” she began, then hesitated before continuing, her voice lower, “do you think you’ll be alright in court tomorrow?”  Her expression was suggestive, a little smug.

Caroline laughed.  “It was rather... a challenge,” she conceded.  Her chest constricted, her throat tightened, her pulse quickened, just thinking about it, the agony of dragging herself away in the morning, then seeing her just a few feet away along the bench a couple of hours later.  It was also utterly intoxicating.  She had upped her game that day, showing off. It had been a while since she had felt that wickedly out of control. She straightened in her seat, arched an eyebrow.  “I could do it every day.” She winced inwardly, hoping that she hadn't betrayed herself, but Martha didn't seem to notice.

“Then what the hell are we waiting for?”  Martha was on her feet, picking up handbag and jacket without letting go of her hand.  Caroline noticed that the frown lines between Martha’s brows had softened a little, that her jaw was set less fiercely.  Relieved, she allowed herself to be led out of the pub and into the night, in search of a taxi, and tried not to smile too obviously or look too pleased with herself.

“What are you smiling at?”  Martha whirled, pinning her against the wall.  _Busted._

She was intensely aware of the scratch of brick against her wrist, of the knee pressed ever so slightly between her thighs, of the hip brushing against hers, of the flutter of Martha’s breath across her nose.  She frowned, wiping the smile from her face, suddenly incapable of doing much other than keep control of her breathing, what with Martha right there, looking down at her.  “I have no idea,” she managed eventually, the lump in her throat so huge that she could hardly breathe.  Martha leant in close, but as Caroline stretched to close the space between them, she was gone, crossing the pavement, holding her hand out for a taxi, leaving Caroline weak-kneed against the wall.  _Damn.  What have you got yourself into, Warwick?_

She shook her head and stepped straight into the cab, hoping she at least looked composed.  She hadn’t been taken by surprise like that in a long time – it was always, always her who called the shots.  Everyone else was too... not afraid, exactly, but intimidated.  She was so unused to her dominance being questioned that it simply no longer occurred to her as a possibility, and as a result, she was shaken up and utterly, utterly enthralled. 

 

 

They sat on opposite sides of the taxi, keeping their hands to themselves, silent as it wound through the streets.  Martha paid, then grinned, suddenly and beautifully, taking Caroline’s hand again and nudging her out of the car and down the steps to her flat. 

This time, when she pushed her against the wall, under the shuddering automatic light by the door, she didn’t leave her waiting.  Her hand slid inside Caroline’s jacket, curling around her waist to tug her closer even as she pinned her harder against the wall, waiting only a moment before finally – finally – kissing her, all open mouth and greed and want.  Caroline twisted her fingers into Martha’s hair, and gasped as a hand found its way to her thigh, the one on her waist moved to untuck her shirt and began to unbutton it from the hem upwards.

Then the light switched off.

Martha jumped, then laughed, pressing her forehead briefly to Caroline's shoulder as she pretended not to be embarrassed, then waved her arm to switch it back on so that she could find her keys, fumbling in her bag.  Caroline leant back against the wall, watching, smiling a little, until Martha grumbled, “If you'd help me look instead of looking so fucking pleased with yourself, we’d get inside quicker,” then, when she took the bag off her, rummaged a little, and produced a set of keys with a triumphant flourish, “oh shut up.”

They stumbled through the door and Martha led her straight through the lounge, past stacks of papers and discarded shoes, barely giving her enough time to drop her bag on a chair before divesting her of her jacket.  “Hang on,” she said softly, holding up a hand and stepping backward out of her shoes.  Martha looked so crestfallen that Caroline immediately reached for her, cupping her cheek in the palm of her hand and brushing her thumb against the corner of her mouth.  "I'm not going anywhere."  She began to undo Martha’s shirt, stilling Martha’s hands as she raised them to help, continuing only when she was still, teasing the hem out from her skirt, undoing that, too.

But once again, Martha surprised her.  “Fuck this,” she growled, catching Caroline’s wrist and tugging her close enough that she could finish what she had started outside, sparking a race to undress one another until they stood, panting, in the bedroom doorway, barefoot, surrounded by discarded clothes.  Martha looked down and blushed.  “I got a bit overexcited,” she whispered, and laughed, and she looked so pretty that Caroline could only lean in and kiss her again, and relinquish control entirely.

  

 

She woke at six, vaguely aware of a distant, repetitive sound.  It took her a moment to realise that it was her phone alarm, tucked into her bag.  She slipped out of bed, creeping into the kitchen to turn it off, then slid back in, grateful for the warmth of the quilt - and Martha - after the chill of the tiled floor.  As she settled, Martha wriggled close to her, tucking her head against her collarbone with a soft sigh.  A few minutes later, she pulled away again, rolling onto her stomach to look down at her, frowning.  She looked frightened, as though she'd woken from a nightmare.  “We will be alright, won’t we?” she asked.

Caroline shifted, sitting up a little.  “What do you mean?”

Martha sat up on her heels, the quilt falling away from her, scratching nervously and absentmindedly at her forearm.  “No matter what happens with this trial, we’ll be alright?”

It hadn’t even occurred to her that it might be a problem, though, of course, Martha was right.  She may be young, she may be naive, but she was also right.  Caroline had no idea.  Of course, she had been friends with her opponents, slept with judges and solicitors, but never been so close to her opposing counsel as she felt to Martha, and the thought was as frightening as it was thrilling.  She sighed.  “You know I can’t promise, darling,” she sighed eventually.  “But I do hope so.”


End file.
